


Requiescat in pace

by baja_king



Category: Hogan's Heroes (TV 1965)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-05-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:29:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24384331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baja_king/pseuds/baja_king
Summary: It's been 25 years since the camp liberation and the heroes reunite in person for the first time. One shot in acknowledgement of Memorial Day.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 17





	Requiescat in pace

# Requiescat in pace

Saturday, May 30, 1970

The somber day needed complimentary weather. London provided unusually dry conditions coupled with 74° F or 23° C temperature amid abundant sunshine. Hogan used to imagine the city as a perpetual damp city suffering thick fog or incessant rain thanks to Hollywood. He saw slight truth during his station. Knowing the fickle spring weather, he had the foresight to pack a variety of suits.

Twenty-five years was a long time. Hogan remembered the bombings. The new London restored his faith in humanity, even if the denizens chose to drive on the wrong side of the road. Hogan found the hackney driver pleasantly indulgent as he marveled at new structures and buildings that rebuilt after the war. The streets bustled with prosperity.

Arriving at his destination, Hogan paid the driver and stood on the sidewalk. Newkirk’s choice for a reunion gathering spot seemed appropriate. The Tudor style pub more than survived the war. He took a deep breath before entering. His choice for a casual business suit complimented the other patrons. Hogan saw his friend in a booth and happily cried, “Newkirk!”

The bartender gruffly snapped, “Oi! Keep it down!”

“Never mind him,” Newkirk smiled as he approached Hogan. The two briefly hugged before Newkirk continued, “It’s good to see you, Colonel Hogan.”

“I see Time has treated you well,” teased Hogan.

“Less gray than you,” joked Newkirk.

The Luftstalag former resident pickpocket and jack-of-all-trades looked like a gentleman in the double-breasted suit. When Newkirk held up Hogan’s wallet while sporting a Cheshire grin, Hogan laughed so loudly that the bartender snapped another warning. Touchy bartender, thought Hogan.

The two men went to the booth and ordered Newcastle Brown Ale, a variety Hogan remembered from years ago that also survived the war. Serving any ale cold was rude. Chilling this variety would have been criminal. The men indulged until another familiar face entered the pub, yet the attire remained unusual, drawing looks from the patrons.

Too many years had passed, but Hogan remembered the young man who struggled to fit in with the main cadre. Carter looked more than comfortable in his jeans and black button down shirt adorned with beaded patterns. The bone and jewel choker complimented the beaded cuff bracelets. Braided hair ran halfway down his back. His black Stetson had a custom beaded hatband with bold red chevrons.

An excited outburst of greetings upset the bartender intent on keeping a quiet establishment. While Newkirk apologized, Hogan led Carter to the booth. The not so young man was different, exuding confidence and dignity. It contradicted past zealousness when it came to bombing missions. Hogan always knew that Carter would come into his own.

Two more arrivals fueled the fervor of the reunion, again upsetting the bartender. Kinchloe and LeBeau excitedly conversed in French. LeBeau looked like a well to do businessman in his three-piece slim suit accentuated with flat cap, conservative tie, gold cufflinks, and pocket watch. Round glasses added to the formalism, while his passion reminded Hogan of days past.

Kinchloe looked good in his zoot suit accentuated with a watch chain dangling from the belt to the knee and then back to a side pocket. The extravagant attire belied the typical calm demeanor Hogan knew so well from years ago. Martin Luther King spoke of wearing zoot suits in his youth. Hogan thought he understood Kinchloe’s intention with the choice of attire.

The bartender snapped, “Settle down before I call the coppers!”

Newkirk retorted, “Bluebottles don’t scare me. We’ll keep it down, mate.” The men returned to the table. LeBeau muttered under his breath in French while Kinchloe responded accordingly in sympathetic tones. Carter remained stoic.

Hogan asked, “How soon before the train?”

Newkirk looked at his watch and said, “The next direct train leaving Waterloo is at twelve forty-two. We’ve got time for another round.”

Hogan sighed, “Thanks.”

Newkirk asked, “But why a cemetery? We have the Cenotaph. People leave wreaths all the time.”

Kinchloe responded, “Hey, it’s what we do on Memorial Day. We don’t even have to know who’s buried; just what they fought and died for.”

Carter said, “It’s a different way to honor the fallen. Thank you, Peter, for indulging us.”

LeBeau added, “I am honored to stand by your side again, mon ami.”

“Thanks,” smiled Hogan. He had the best team of men during the war and treasured friends after the war. The five did their best to stay in touch. Mail seemed impersonal. Telephone offered friendlier communications if timed correctly using the natural monopoly known as AT&T. Transatlantic calls included exorbitant costs. Waiting until after 7:00 p.m. in Cleveland meant waking up Newkirk at midnight or LeBeau at one o’clock in the morning. North Dakota was an hour behind Ohio while Detroit in the same time zone.

Kinchloe casually commented, “I think we’ve got trouble.” He nodded towards the bar. A constable spoke with the bartender, who pointed a finger at the group.

Newkirk said, “Blimey, a couple of outbursts and he gets his knickers in a knot. I’ll handle this, Governor.”

The constable approached the group with the bartender and said, “I’m afraid you’re not welcome here.” Newkirk calmly pulled out his wallet and showed his identification. The constable immediately stood at attention and said, “Chief Inspector! Forgive the intrusion.”

Newkirk placed his wallet back inside his jacket and said, “Sorry about me mates. They have been traveling and we neglected good manners. We’ll be off soon to the Waterloo Train Station to ride the coffin line.”

The constable nervously said, “Very good, sir.”

Hogan said, “I forgot how some English pubs prefer quiet.” He pulled out his wallet, removed several high denomination pound notes, and continued, “If the bartender will allow me, I’d like to buy a round for the house as way of apology.”

Newkirk said, “Colonel, that’s right decent of you.” He pulled out additional pound notes and continued, “It’s my fault too. I know better.”

LeBeau said, “Ah, we French are a passionate people.”

The bartender said, “We like it quiet around here but you’re visitors. I’ll make sure my customers know you didn’t mean offense.”

The constable sighed in relief and said, “Very good. You’re headed to Brookwood. Is there someone you know there?”

Hogan said, “Maybe, maybe not. On a day like today, it’s important to honor all of the fallen. It seemed an appropriate place to visit.”

Newkirk said, “Drink up, mates. We’ve got a train to catch.”

Kinchloe raised his glass and said, “To fallen comrades. May they rest in peace. They sure as hell earned it.”

The five men raised their glasses while the constable bowed his head. Once the glasses emptied, the men knew it was time to leave. The bartender took the money and the constable offered kind remarks. Patrons stared as the unusual ensemble left the pub.

The men made haste with their walk yet military timing involved _hurry up and wait_. Carter regressed into his younger self as he marveled at busy crowds and the train station clock. The men purchased their tickets and went to the platform. They engaged in fond banter recounting the numerous times they blew up the Bad Kissingen Train Bridge.

Kinchloe said, “Would have been easier if they were electric trains like these.”

Carter staunchly asked, “Where’s the fun in that?”

The group waited as passengers unloaded before entering the train. The historic line endured even if company ownership changed during the course of the years. The Necropolis Railway regularly transported bodies during the war until 1941 when its headquarters suffered partial destruction during a bombing raid.

When the train started, the men’s demeanor shifted to somber contemplation. Newkirk explained that once they arrived, they would walk through the Brookwood Cemetery to get to the adjacent Brookwood Military Cemetery. Originally, the five hundred acre space was referred to as the London Necropolis, owing to the need to ease overcrowded cemeteries within London.

Newkirk said, “Colonel, I’m still racking me brain as to why you want to do this. It’s important to you. That’s good enough for me. I hope you’ll come back for Remembrance Day. The Commonwealth really comes together.”

Hogan sighed, “I just feel that I need to be here. I’m glad you’re indulging this.”

LeBeau said, “Many lives were lost at the hands of those butchers. We did everything within our power to stop them as quickly as possible.”

“True,” said Kinchloe. “We helped hundreds get out of Germany.”

Hogan asked, “Could we have done more?”

Carter replied, “No one could have done more than us in our situation. We did the best we could. We exceeded London’s expectations.”

“I know,” sighed Hogan. “Not everyone made it home.”

Kinchloe said, “That’s war. Colonel now’s not the time to start doubting yourself. Andrew’s right.”

Carter said, “We made it back home alive and well. Let us honor those who did not.”

Newkirk said, “It’s one twenty-four. We’ll be there in a minute.”

Kinchloe said, “We’re with you, Colonel.”

Hogan said, “I’m ready.”

Once stopped, the men detrained and Newkirk led the way to the cemetery access. The simplistic arrangement offered peace. Trees and flowers accentuated the gravestones and mausoleums. Unlike most American cemeteries that favored rectangular sections, Brookwood offered parcels of varying sizes and designs. It offered rest for the dead yet life for the flora. The afternoon sun shone brightly and trees offered gentle shade. It took the men twenty minutes to reach the adjacent cemetery.

As four men gasped, Newkirk calmly said, “This is it.”

Hogan found his voice, “Oh my God. This is brilliant.”

The military cemetery remained in pristine condition. Someone took care of maintenance and gardening. Plots aligned with military precision including trim plant beds in front of the headstones. The men marveled with appreciation as Newkirk pointed out the Cross of Sacrifice and the Stone of Remembrance, both markers that added to the power and beauty of the cemetery.

Arriving at the Memorial to the Missing, the five men entered the round monument and looked around. Hogan felt a tear. Yes, the British knew how to honor the fallen. Many in the cemetery died in country while in service. Too wounded to remain near the frontlines, they returned to England and succumbed to their injuries. Some suffered from the German bombing missions.

Hogan looked at the distant Cross of Sacrifice behind the meticulous rows of graves. His heart swelled with love and admiration. He had not understood why Newkirk could not comprehend the importance of a Memorial Day tribute. Briefly, he felt ashamed. No, he was the one deficient in respecting how the British chose to honor the fallen. He looked at his men and they needed him once again to be their colonel. He clasped his hands together and lowered his eyes.

_We stand here today as survivors of one of the most brutal wars known to humanity. Entire nations ravaged, millions dead, and hope nearly extinguished somehow we made it. Not all of our comrades managed. Their sacrifices contributed to victory, and for that, we are honored to stand here today in honor and respect._

_We are military men. We know courage and honor. We exemplify duty and reliability. We maintained human decency and dignity when confronted with immorality and depravity. These are more than words. We practice our values every day._

_I stand here among fellow soldiers. We come from different backgrounds, heritages, and nations. We have that in common with those who rest eternal. One day we will meet our final fate. May the gates of Heaven warmly welcome us. We did the right thing. The way we did it – honestly, I have often wondered if we could have done it better. We considered no one as mere cannon fodder, nor as pigs for the slaughter. We did what had to be done._

_Together, we defended our nations and liberated the oppressed. We are trying our best to build a better world. Thank you, comrades. We remember. We will always honor you. Though you do not stand with us in body, we hope your spirits can somehow hear our simple prayers. Amen._

The men bowed their heads in respect for a moment. Hogan felt a burden lifted from his shoulders. For too long he carried the load of guilt. He could have – no, he should have done more. Yet he was just a man. He could not look back at what might have been.

Newkirk finally said, “It’s best we head out. I think a drink is in order.” Hogan nodded his head. Newkirk continued, “There’s a lovely place called The Nag’s Head. We’ll have a few pints and take the five forty-six train back to Waterloo.”

Hogan said, “That’s a plan. Hey, I appreciate this.”

Newkirk smiled, “I thought you were right daft but I think I get it now.”

LeBeau said, “Magnifique très impressionnant.”

Kinchloe said, “They deserve this place.”

Carter smiled, “It feels good here. They are at peace. I know it.”

The men began the walk through the cemetery. Hogan could have visited any cemetery on Memorial Day. He had to do it in England, which once played an important part of his life. He let go of his regret. He valued his friends. Somehow, he let himself get too bogged down to do something sooner. Quietly, he vowed to reach out in person to his friends while they still enjoyed life.

_Fin_

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Note: I’d like to thank Magpie Tales, Chris Boyce, and Igenlode Wordsmith for their kind words and assistance through the FFN forum. As an Oregonian who has never visited England, I struggled looking for an appropriate location that best exemplified a Memorial Day tribute. We may do things differently across the ocean, but some things retain the honor and privilege that our fallen deserve.


End file.
